Half-asleep, Jaehyun intertwines his fingers with yours. He tugs you closer to his side in bed, sheen of sweat over your bare bodies shining in the lights that filter in through his open window. You stare up at the ceiling, gaze unfocused, and let your mind wander. Your thoughts twist around each other before flowing outwards and escaping the confines of the apartment walls that surround you. Dancing away into the night air. You let them go—let them surge forward as your consciousness trails behind.

Jaehyun sighs into your side, drifting deeper into sleep, and you follow your thoughts as they weave through campus. They bathe in the white glow of the full moon hung heavy in the sky. They sparkle with the mischief that daydreams so often do, teasing you forward with the all of the hopes that they promise. Beckoning you closer. Asking you to step outside of yourself, to leave the present moment, and wrap your attention around them. Focus shifting to the future. 

You see yourself, years from now—maybe 5, maybe 10—walking barefoot across the hardwood floor of the New York apartment you’ve been manifesting since you were 13. It had materialized, a pin in your mental vision board, over afternoons spent sitting on your mom’s couch, binge watching HGTV and reading Architectural Digest. Forbes 30 Under 30 list splayed out on the cushions next to you even as your teeth still ached with the tightness of the braces the dentist had convinced your parents you needed. 

Row upon row of leather-bound volumes line the shelves of your office—designed especially for your future self. Richly stained walnut furniture contrasted by soft white walls. The air is crisp with the scent of mint and spruce. An assertive combination intended to enliven the senses and clear the air of the staleness of time. A booming law practice in the city—criminal prosecution. Defending the word of law. From those who would seek to silence it and for those without a voice to defend themselves.

Your parents teased you about it for years. Every time it was your turn to pick a Friday night movie, they knew it could only be one of three choices: Philadelphia, The Rainmaker, or Legally Blonde (when you were in the mood for something light).

For your 14th birthday they got you a miniature gavel. For your 15th, a novelty Law & Order t-shirt emblazoned with Rafael Barba’s face. For your 16th birthday they finally accepted how serious you were about your future and got you the selection of books you had been asking for for every previous birthday.

For them, this dream of your was always something they half-expected you would abandon. Likely to change your mind as soon as you got out into the ‘real world', or started branching out socially. Dating, new friends, new hobbies. After all, don't most teenagers go through phases? Changing their minds at the drop of a hat as they develop their tastes and inclinations.

For you though it had never been an abstract. Never anything other than an absolute certainty just waiting to come to fruition. You were occupied daily with it. Goals to achieve, targets to meet, data to collect. A future as solid and unwavering as the mattress beneath you. Propping you up as you moved forward with all the determination that reaching that goal required of you. 

Every move had been calculated, every step had been leading you to this future version of yourself. Your life in the heart of the city, at the heart of justice. 

Every move—save one. 

A gentle snore escapes the man at your side. Pulling your focus back into the present moment. You feel the weight of his arm over your stomach again, the press of his thigh against yours. His lips are parted slightly in sleep, a soft, contented hum emitting from his throat. Dark brown hair mussed from hours of being tangled up in each others’ embraces.

With a sigh you slip out of his arms, disentangling your fingers from his, and drop your feet onto the cold linoleum floor with a soft thud. Taking care not to wake him, you redress and gather your things from the pile of stuff on his desk. 

You're a step away from the door when you hear him call out to you. Voice thick with sleep. With a grimace at being caught mid-escape, you turn back towards him. Jaehyun stares after you through half-open eyes as you're frozen still, hand outstretched towards the door handle. "Yes?" you ask in reply.

“Where are you going?” The sheets fall away from his body as he slides up on the bed, exposing his bare torso. He runs a hand through his hair in a vain attempt at smoothing it out but it remains stubbornly (adorably) dishevelled. 

“Home,” you reply, dropping your phone and wallet back onto his desk and closing the few feet between you to sit back down on the edge of his bed. You reach towards him and he leans into your touch, letting you brush a few errant strands of hair off his forehead without resistance. 

“Do you have an early lecture or something?” he asks, glancing around the bed bleary-eyed for his phone. You lean forward and slip it out from the pocket of his discarded jeans on the floor and offer it to him with a half-smile. The screen lights up at your touch. 1:17am. 

You shake your head. “No, but I do have an exam coming up that I need to study for.” 

“When?” he asks, tossing the phone back aside after checking the time for himself.

“Next week.”

He laughs—low and rumbling—and opens the covers in welcome. “Come back to bed then,” he pleads, dimpled smile aimed to entice you back into his arms. “You work too hard.” 

“No such thing,” you counter, leaning forward to place a small kiss on the tip of his nose before standing back up to leave. He lets his head drop back against the wall, watching you walk away. An affectionate grin spreads across his face, but no further arguments arise. Knowing well enough by now he would just lose anyway. “Good night, Jae," you call out to him in the dark before cracking the door open.

“Night,” he returns, sliding back down the wall and onto the mattress. Already fast asleep once more by the time you shut the door behind you. 

The cold night air rushes at you as soon as you leave the apartment lobby, biting its way through your thin jacket. You tug the garment tighter around you and head off through the intersecting pathways of campus towards your own dorm. The streetlights shine off the wet cobblestone walkways in a lingering reminder of yet another rainy night. The campus is deserted save for yourself and a couple huddled together against the cold walking ahead of you.  

You follow behind at a distance, treading through shallow puddles, and watch as the girl leans into her boyfriend, curling into his side as he slips an arm around her waist. A pang of longing twists inside your gut and you stuff it down with a groan as they stop in front of you to kiss, blocking the path. You pause for a moment, eyes rolled back into your skull, before cutting through the wet grass and trodding heavily towards your building.

. . . 

Halloween, Freshman Year

“I’m not sure about this,” you stand, twisting side to side in front of your dorm room mirror, hands smoothing down the front of your borrowed black vinyl jumpsuit. A deranged cat stares back at you from the reflection, orange painted whiskers creased in worry. “I look like a rejected audition from Cats the Musical.” 

“You look fine,” your roommate assures in exasperation, slipping the leather cat ears onto your head. She gives a once-over, dragging her gaze over the skin-tight outfit and face paint before nodding in approval. “Better than fine," she adds, "you look hot.” 

“Jihyo, I look like Catwoman’s estranged cousin,” you argue, tugging self-consciously at the slinky material as it clings uncomfortably to your frame. With a grimace you glance up at her, giving her Kill Bill inspired jumpsuit a jealous once over, “how come you escaped the cat concept?” 

She spares herself a glance in the mirror, smiling after a brief evaluation of her appearance, before turning back towards you with a wink. “Because I planned ahead.” 

“Yeah, well I didn’t plan on going,” you mumble, sharpening the tip of the drawn on nose with a swipe of liquid eyeliner.

It had been years since you had gone out for Halloween. Even longer since you bothered wearing anything that wasn’t loose fitting and comfortable. Your friends in high school used to tease you for dressing like the librarians but you figured your comfort was far better than the attention of any hopelessly stupid teenage boy that might have otherwise looked your way.

“I know,” she nods unsympathetically,“ but I couldn’t let you waste another night just studying like some medieval monk.” 

“But—” you prepare your protestations for the hundredth time that night, gaze drifting longingly at your laptop as it sits perched on top of your duvet, but Jihyo levels you with a glare, silencing you before you can get started. 

“But nothing. It’s our first year of university,” she rolls her eyes as she ushers you out of the dorm room and down the stairs to the exit. “There’s a whole world out there. Maybe consider enjoying it for once.” 

“I can enjoy it when I graduate,” you mutter, moping behind her like a sad stray as she strides to the cab she had ordered 20 minutes ago.

Jihyo just laughs, nudging you into the backseat. The warm leather seat squeaks against your catsuit as you slide across to make room for her. “Just one night," she assures. "Tomorrow you can crawl back into your monastery and I promise I won’t try and make you socialize for at least 3 months.”

“6,” you barter, extending your hand for her to shake. 

“4. New years eve,” she counter-offers, shaking your hand before you can back out and you groan your reluctant acceptance of the terms and conditions. 

"Ugh fine. New Years Eve.”

“Then it's a deal.” Jihyo flashes you a smug smile before leaning forward and directing the cab driver off campus. You lean your head against the window, knocking the cat ears askew, and watch as the streets pass by in a blur of lights and colour.

Rhythmic bass reverberates through the house as you step over the threshold into the party. You follow Jihyo as she weaves through the crowd of people, making her way to the kitchen at the back of the first floor with you in tow. A chorus of cheers ripples through the crowd gathered in the small room when she enters.

“Jihyo, you made it,” a voice calls out and your friend is drawn from your side and into the group of party-goers; absorbed by the frey as if she were a natural part of it. 

Which, you suppose, she was. 

You hover at the entrance to the room, arms crossed tight over your chest, and watch as she greets everyone—all side hugs and sloppy high fives. She turns, waving you over, and you inhale a steadying breath—the scent of liquor filling your lungs proving unhelpful in the attempt to soothe your nerves. 

"This is my roommate," she introduces you and you're met with some appraising glances from half-glazed eyes. The faux leather catsuit tightens around you.

"Ah, the hermit," a tall, broad brunette guy grins at you. He winks, the gesture sly but somehow still friendly, and slings his arm casually over Jihyo's shoulders. "I'm Johnny," he extends his other hand for you to shake and you take it. 

"Nice to meet you," you bite back the urge to defend yourself from the use of the word 'hermit'. You didn't understand why not attending parties made you such a social pariah in the minds of most college students, but you let it pass for the sake of first impressions. And to prevent any morning discussions with your roommate about your lack of social skills.

You complete the round of introductions, nodding at each name even as they immediately vacate your head the second a new one is introduced, and accept a cup of lukewarm beer from Johnny—the host apparent. Jihyo sinks into conversation with him after you flash her a reassuring smile and you slip off to find a quiet corner of the house, eager to be rid of the panopticon of eyes that surrounded you in the kitchen.

A pumpkin orange threadbare couch sits sentinel at the back wall of the living room, untouched by the mingling party goers save one guy dressed as Spiderman slumped over the armrest. With the tip of your boot, you nudge his leg off the cushion and plop down next to him. The action sends your beer sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the red solo cup it's housed in.

You sit, hunched over your drink, and watch the crowd of students bump into each other, purposefully and accidentally. Parties were good for one thing at least—comedy. There weren’t many places these days where you can kick back with a cheap, stale beer and watch one of three Batmen make out with a giant raccoon. From the corner of your eye you see Jihyo disappear upstairs, pulling Johnny by the hand behind her, and you bury yourself deeper into the plush cushions—grateful that she was just going to leave you to your own devices until it was time to go. Maybe she would text you that she was going to be occupied for a while and you could slip out unnoticed and head back to your dorm alone. Watch a movie. Catch a few extra hours of sleep.

It was a tempting thought. Even if it would inevitably earn you some serious admonishment the next day from your hungover roommate.

"Hey," a voice sounds out next to you, popping the small bubble of quiet contemplation you had found yourself basking in before the interruption. You glance up, hoping whoever it was might be trying to save Spiderman from his stupor. A guy with cat whiskers drawn lazily over his cheeks smiles down at you in return.

He looks familiar. His soft brown eyes and dimpled cheeks are ones you're sure you've seen before but you can't fully place him. It's a big campus—lots of people coming and going—and you've probably just made eye contact somewhere in amongst the fray during welcome week. 

"Catwoman?" he asks. As if the answer weren't already obvious. 

You nod anyway, and point to the dollar store cat ears that were perched precariously on his head. "You too?"

"Something like that," that same dimpled smile stays on his face as he pushes Spiderman aside a few more inches and plops down next to you on the couch. The heat of his body mingling with the scent of liquor and fading cologne overwhelm your senses for a minute and you realise that, apart from your roommate, you haven't been this close to anyone since high school. 

“I think I know you,” he says suddenly and you stifle a small laugh. 

“I doubt it,” you reply. You can’t help the tone of suspicion that sneaks through at the words, or the subconscious desire to shift away from him on the couch. Boys at parties were never your favourite thing. No respect for personal space, oblivious to the discomfort of others or when the right time to end a conversation was. This one might be cute—and dressed like a cat—but his thigh was pressed against yours and you could feel your body tensing up at the sudden contact.

“No, I think we do know each other. I think we have a class together,” he continues, doubling down, seemingly unfazed by your dead eyed stare into middle distance. “Intro to Philosophy.” 

As soon as he mentions the class, his face solidifies in your memory—recognition dawning bright in your thoughts. Same orientation group, same class, same dimpled smile. He sat a few rows behind you in the lecture hall. Notable by the lack of materials prepared for class each day and the flock of undergrads clamouring for his attention despite that. 

“Oh,” you concede, nodding and dropping your gaze to the amber liquid in your cup before turning it back on him. “I remember, yeah. Jaehyun, right?” 

His smile widens and you can feel a pit opening up in your stomach despite yourself. The scent of possibility lingering in the air between you. You wanted to wave it away like a gnat.

"That's me," he says, before confirming your own name. You nod in kind, taking a sip of your now lukewarm beer. "I don't usually see you around at parties," he says and you let yourself release a bark of laughter at the comment.  

"Makes sense," you say, "I'm not usually at them."

"Why not?" he asks and you wonder why he even cares. Surely he had friends here to talk with. A girlfriend. A line-up of drooling groupies. He leans back into the cushion, shoulder now pressing against yours and you resign yourself to the idea that you might be roped into a conversation for a while now. At least Jihyo will be happy when you fill her in on it later.

"Not my thing," you shrug, glancing around at the costumed people mingling and stumbling through the room as if the scene before you should be enough explanation. 

“So what do you do for fun, then? Instead of parties?” You’re used to that question being laced with an element of judgment, but he asks it with such open curiosity that you're taken aback. The frankness strips your defenses a little and you feel the coil of tension in your body unwind slightly. Like your thoughts and your feelings might be safe in the ears of this undergrad you’ve never actually interacted with before now.  

“I don’t really,” you sigh, tossing away your usual rehearsed answer in favour of honesty. Deciding to match his frankness with your own. Something in the warm browns of his irises makes you want to be honest. And while it catches you off guard, it also feels like a breath of fresh air. So you give in. “I don’t do much for fun. I’m pretty focused on school.” 

“Aren’t you a freshman?” he leans forward on his elbows, inquisitive eyes still trained on you under his mop of curly brown hair. and you feel a little unmoored without the weight of his arm pressed against yours.

“Yeah,” you reply without further explanation.

“So you haven’t declared a major yet, right?” You confirm the statement with a nod and he continues with after a light chuckle. “I don’t know any freshmen that focused on school.”

“Well, you do now,” you retort and he laughs again—a full, bright laugh this time. It smooths out any lingering doubts you had about him. You thought it was just the dimples and jawline, but maybe he was just genuinely a nice guy. Maybe that's why he had so many admirers in class.  

“I’ve never met anyone quite like you,” he says, shaking his head and tipping the rest of his beer into his mouth. The words resonate in you. Striking a chord you didn't know needed to be plucked. It was weird how strangers sometimes had the exact right thing to say, the exact right point of acknowledgement to make. You always prided yourself on your resilience and authenticity but you never asked for anyone to notice it. But that didn't mean you didn't relish hearing it.

“Most people say I’m too serious,” you confess, a swell of pride blooming in your voice. “Or too intense.” 

“Maybe,” he hums, thoughtful. “I don't think those are bad things to be.” 

A small smile stretches across your face despite yourself and you bury it in your cup. Maybe it was the effects of the alcohol that had you warming to him so quickly, or maybe he was just this disarming naturally. You were used to the game of socialization. People hiding behind facades, skirting around what they truly meant to say. Sly smiles and darting eyes. It was exhausting to try and keep up with so you just avoided it, but here was this boy sitting next to you without any of those pretensions.

Maybe you were naive. Or had had bad luck with friend groups in the past. Maybe more people were like this than you gave them credit for. But as it was, this balance of gentle honesty and curiosity was making you feel that coming to this party maybe hadn't been the worst idea in the world after all.

“So,” he starts after a few moments of silence, “what made you come out to this party in particular? Blackmail?” 

“Something like that,” you say, glancing up as if Jihyo might materialize right in front of you. Tapping her heeled foot against the carpet and levelling you with a glare half-fond and half-reproachful. “I made a deal with my roommate that I would attend at least 2 parties with her this year, so here I am. Party number 1.” 

“What made you agree to that?” A chorus of cheers erupts in the kitchen and you both glance in that direction—anticipating further disruption—before the crowd settles back to it's standard decibel of chatter and music. Jaehyun turns back to you with a slight grin tugging at the corners of his lips, “you don’t seem like the type to give in to a demand like that.” 

“She thinks I’m ‘wasting my youth’,” you laugh, recalling the conversation from a week ago that had led you to this point. “If I didn’t agree to this, she would never let me have a moment’s peace in the dorm. I value my peace.” 

“Do you agree with her?” he asks.

“About?” 

“Do you think you’re ‘wasting your youth’?”

“No,” you reply immediately, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate. Despite all your conviction and dedication there was a small part of you—a weak, internal voice whispering in the back of your mind that maybe, just maybe, everyone else is right. Maybe you are missing out on life. Maybe all of this will be for naught and you will look back on your teens and early 20s with regret at not joining in. Fun, growth, friendship, love—weren’t these all essential parts of the college experience? Usually you brush this voice aside. Dismiss it as the echo of everyone around you resounding in your head and distracting you from your goals. But in this moment you’re feeling less sure.

After a moment of silence (punctuated by Spiderman’s rhythmic snoring) Jaehyun shakes his head, dismissing whatever thought was lingering unspoken in the air. “Well," he says, "you’re here now anyway. What’s the harm in letting loose one time?” You eye him with brief suspicion and he laughs. “Get another drink with me. I promise it won’t kill you.” 

This is it, you think. One of those moments that hangs in the balance between. A fork in the road. A path diverging in the yellow wood. You examine the choices laid before you. Reject the suggestion and go home; stay on the same track you’ve been on since you were twelve years old and reading law books in the library while everyone else was reading The Princess Diaries and dreaming of their weddings to boys who still had spaghetti stains on their t-shirts.

Or, you could do something you’ve never done and say yes. Grab another drink from the fracas in the kitchen. Accept the outstretched hand extended towards you. Lean into the warmth of a boy in your philosophy class that seemed a little too good to be true. Toss aside the lens of analysis you used to examine every decision in life and just see where the night takes you.

The word ‘no’ forms itself on your mouth, dancing at the end of your tongue. An old friend. So easy now, so natural, to let it roll out of your mouth without much thought to the alternative. Jaehyun looks at you in silence, brown eyes wide and questioning, and for the first time in a long time you hold it back. 

“Sure,” you find yourself saying instead. The foreignness of the word on your tongue awakens the senses, breaking open a sea of possibilities. “Why not?” 

“Then let’s go get you a refill,” he nods toward your empty cup and you push yourself off the old couch. Abandoning Spiderman on the couch as he continues to snore open-mouthed in time with the music. 

. . .

November 1st, Freshman Year

You crack your eyes open the next morning to be greeted by unknown surroundings and a pounding headache in your temple. Sunlight filters in through half-open blinds and you glance around at the room with bleary-eyed confusion. It’s barely furnished—only a desk, a chair piled high with laundry, and the bed you lay on occupy the space. The floor is covered with textbooks and discarded socks. A stereotypical bachelor's pad. 

With a groan you push yourself up onto your elbows, both grateful and concerned that your skin tight pleather costume had been traded in for a pair of boxer shorts and an old thrift store t-shirt. The unfamiliar clothes stir up a whirlwind of questions as to what exactly happened during the blank spaces in your memories.

Sliding out from beneath the thin duvet, your eyes scan the floor for any sign of your belongings. You find your catsuit and phone in a neat pile at the edge of the desk. The phone screen flashes on for a second before fading back to black. No doubt one of a flood of text notifications from Jihyo left waiting for you on the device. The sight makes your stomach twist into a tight knot. What happened last night?

As if in answer, the door to the room swings open and Jaehyun walks in, towling his hair dry. "Oh," he says as you stare wordlessly up at him. "You're up." He smiles and you narrow your eyes in confused suspicion. 

 “Where am I?” you ask, careful not to let too much worry seep into the question.

"Uh," he chuckles, low and heady, and the sound heightens your worries immediately, "my dorm room."

"Why?" you ask and he pauses for a moment, scrambling for an answer that might unfurrow the deep crease in your brow.

"I didn't know your address and umm," he tosses the towel aside and reaches to grab a t-shirt from the pile on the chair. You avert your eyes—some lingering sense of propriety compelling you to look away. "Well, you weren't really gonna be able to get home on your own. I didn't want to leave you at the frat house. You don't remember much of last night, do you?"

"I don't drink much." The explanation feels awkward in your mouth as you stand with your gaze fixed towards a spot on the worn linoleum. Jaehyun clears his throat and you glance back up to find him standing in front of you smiling softly—t-shirt on. 

"Yeah, I sort of guessed that." He shoves aside the duvet and sits at the edge of the bed. You turn to face him, eyes drawn to the open space on the mattress next to him but remain steadfast in the middle of the room, arms crossed tight over your chest.

"Did we—?" You can't bring yourself to vocalise the question. It trails off into the air between you. 

"Did we what?" A momentary cloud of confusion flashes in his eyes before it clears and the dimpled smile returns. "Oh. Did we have sex?" You simply nod in response, bracing yourself for the potential impact of his answer. “No, we didn’t. You were pretty out of it, you just needed somewhere to sleep it off.” 

“Oh,” relief washes through you in a wave and you’re glad that for once a random guy at a party you didn’t want to be at turned out to actually be as nice as he seemed. 

“But if you want to now, I’ve got time,” he winks and you can’t help a small smile as it tugs at the corner of your lips.  

“Um, no thank you," you respond, shuffling side to side in an attempt to alleviate some of your discomfort with the situation.

"Just joking," he assures, and you nod, hugging your chest tighter.

"I should probably…” you hesitate under his watchful gaze, uncharacteristically shy, “go.” 

“Oh, now? I thought we could grab breakfast or something.” 

“Breakfast?” you laugh despite yourself, glancing down at your attire as if to remind him that you’re currently standing there in nothing but his boxers and an old t-shirt. “No, I think I need to head back to my dorm and have a long, hot shower.” 

You move to collect your things from the desk and consider whether it's better to squeeze back into the pleather catsuit from last night or beg to borrow a pair of sweatpants. As if sensing the thought, Jaehyun brushes past you to grab a pair of grey joggers from the pile of unfolded laundry on the chair. He holds them out towards you in offering. “Maybe another time then?” 

“Maybe,” you reply, non-committal, stepping into the sweatpants before turning to leave. Jaehyun leans forward, the warmth of his body pressed against you back as he does, and opens the door for you. You squeak a good-bye at him and slip out of the dorm room, bee-lining for the stairwell. 

Morning air greets you—cold and crisp with the scent of falling leaves—filling your lungs and senses. You lean up against the brick building and take a moment to inhale a fresh, cleansing breath. Attempting to gather your scattered thoughts. A buzzing in your pocket turns your attention back towards your phone, reminding you of the flood of texts that had been pouring in as you tried to make your escape from Jaehyun's room. Jihyo’s name flashes up on screen and you sigh, preparing for the earful you're sure to receive. 

“Hey,” you greet with an affected air of casualness. Maybe she won't yell at you if you sound normal and fine.

No such luck.

“Where the hell were you? You texted me some nonsense at like 1am about being with some guy but I didn’t hear from you at all after that I thought you got kidnapped or something,” her voice edges between panic and relief and you can picture her in the dorm room now pacing back and forth. “I bring you to one party and you up and disappear on me after fighting me on going in the first place. It was so weird.” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” you sigh, shoving off from the wall and heading in the direction of your dorm. You maintain a brisk pace—eager to put both this conversation and yourself to bed. “I should have given you a better explanation but I was pretty drunk. You told me to let loose.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees, straining the word to emphasize an incoming addendum, "let loose. Get a little tipsy on cheap beer. Have fun. Not abandon all reason and logic.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” you assure her, swinging open the door to your building. “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” 

“Nothing," you repeat. "He said I just passed out and he didn't know where I lived to take me home.” 

“And you trust him to tell you the truth on that?” she asks, unconvinced.

A twinge of panic plucks at the strings of your heart. Could you trust him? Jaehyun’s face flashes back into your mind—dimpled smile, soft brown eyes. The panic subsides. Maybe it was illogical, maybe it was against all reason (statistically speaking), but you did trust him. If nothing else, he trusted he had been honest. He felt honest.

“I do,” you confirm the feeling out loud just as you reach the door to your room. Before you have a chance to turn your key in the lock Jihyo swings the door open and tugs you into a tight embrace. 

“Okay,” her eyes roam over you once—up and down, eyebrows quirking up in curiosity at the clothes that clearly did not belong to you—before she drops her hands from your shoulders and releases you. “Well, you look alive, at least.” 

“I am,” you laugh, tossing your phone and catsuit onto the bed before flopping onto the mattress beside them.  

“So,” Jihyo drawls after a few minutes of silence. You feel the mattress sink under her weight as she takes a seat next to you. “Who’s this guy?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, hoping she just drops the topic but knowing that the line of questioning wasn’t going to end until she got the answers she was after, “no one. Some freshman.” 

“Oh, okay,” she says, rolling her eyes, “so you just borrowed some freshman’s sweatpants and t-shirt after a party. You, of all people, trusted just some freshman not to take advantage of you while you were unconscious in their bed," she says, waving a hand in mock exasperation. "Do you think I was born yesterday?” 

You groan, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and resigning yourself to the truth. “His name is Jaehyun.”

“Jeong Jaehyun?” she shrieks, voice cutting through the dull headache throbbing in your temples like a knife. “You were with Jeong—" Your phone buzzes, cutting her off before she can finish, and you reach around blindly to find it in the mass of duvet.

“Is that him?” Jihyo stage whispers as if her voice might scare the text away. You ignore her and open the messages. 

[Jae from the party] hey, you probably don’t remember but we exchanged numbers last night. just a heads up before you block me or something [Jae from the party] also if you're still down for breakfast, you can just hang onto my clothes until then. i’m free whenever you are :)

“Wait, wait," she says, face hovering next to yours as she reads the messages along with you. "You're going on a date with him?”

“Jihyo,” you scold, shielding the screen from her prying eyes.

“My bad," she says by way of meek apology, sliding off your bed and to her feet. “My eyes wandered. I couldn't help it.”

You toss the phone aside again, making a mental note to reply later after a shower and a nap, and lean over to gather your toiletries from your nightstand drawer.

“So,” Jihyo drawls again, drawing your wary attention back towards her, “is it a date?”

“It’s not a date."

“If you say so,” she sings, watching you gather up your clothes and towel with a smirk.

“Seriously Jihyo, it’s not a date,” you insist, affecting as stern of a tone as you can muster in the midst of your hangover. It does nothing to shift the smug expression on her face. “I don’t date. It’s not a date.” 

“Too bad,” she sighs, plopping down onto her own bed and flipping open her chem textbook, “cause you could really benefit from getting laid for once.” You roll your eyes in feigned annoyance and grab your phone from your bed before padding down the hall to the shower room. A small worry that you might forget to reply to Jaehyun had formed in the back of your mind during Jihyo's inquest and you decided it was better just to text him now and get it out of the way before he thinks you ghosted him and you're stuck with his underwear.

[you] sure, i can do thursday. i dont have class until 12:30  

.

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November 4th, Freshman Year

The bell above the door of the Denny’s chimes as you walk in and you’re greeted with the smell of day old grease and pancake batter. You had agreed to meet Jaehyun here to return his clothes a few days ago but now glancing around at the tables of college students filling the place you were slightly regretting the decision. Maybe it would have been better to just shove them in a bag and hang it from the doorknob of his dorm room and call it a day.  

After a few minutes of scanning the room you spy him at a booth in the corner. The daylight filtering in through the windows illuminates him in an almost golden angelic glow and you suppress a groan at the sheer cliche of the sight. His hair falls over his eyes in a mop of tousled curls as he glances casually over the menu. The eyes of a giggling group of girls watch him from an adjacent booth.

It’s like a fucking rom-com, you grumble internally while weaving through tables of exhausted and over-caffienated students. 

“Hey,” you greet him when you reach the table, ignoring the increase in volume from the table of girls with eyes as you slide into the booth across from him.

“You made it,” he smiles up at you and you balk at the wave of giddiness that rushes up in your stomach in response. It was easy to write it off as a result of the beer on Halloween, but in the broad light of day you were having to reckon with the idea that you understood his flock of admirers more than you would like to admit. A direct beam of sunlight filters between you and your heart stutters in your chest. For a brief second you want this to be more than it is. You want their jealous glances and whispers to mean something beyond misconception. You brush aside the thought along with an errant strand of hair on your forehead. Annoyed the notion had even crossed your mind in the first place.

"I said I would," you reply, "did you think I was going to stand you up?" You mean it as a playful joke but your words always come out sharper than intended. 

Thankfully he just shrugs it off. "No, you seem too Type A for that."

"Type A?" you balk. "What makes you think that? The last time we saw each other I had passed out in your bed after blacking out completely. Doesn't seem very Type A to me." You mount your weak defense. Bristling at the accusation you've been with your whole life. Type A. Read: cold-hearted, straight-laced, boring, bossy. None of which ever seemed like a fault in your eyes. All of which were things you saw your male peers praised for endlessly.

Your teenage self grits her teeth inside you as you nod 'yes' to the waitress offering your coffee from the communal carafe.

"You're right," he agrees, a half smile forming on his lips, "but from what you told me, it also doesn't seem very like your usual M.O."

He had you there. Maybe in his mind Type A wasn't a bad thing either. Maybe he was one of those easy-going guys that loved strong women who would tell them what to do. Probably not, but maybe. You relent the argument before it can be begin and pluck one of the laminated menus from the condiment caddy on the side of the table. "What are you getting?"

"Grand slam. What else is there?" he replies, tossing his menu to the side with a flourish and a shrug.

"French toast? Pancake stack? You seem like a sweets kind of guy," you shrug in turn, mirroring his nonchalance while trying to one-up him on the observational scale. Maybe he had you pegged from the get-go as a serious, no frills student in spite of the cat costume, but you didn't have to give up control of the conversation that easily.

"Oh? And how do you figure that?" He returns the energy you greeted him with and you suppress the urge to smile at his willingness to engage in the back-and-forth.

"You just seem…" you start, but struggle to grasp the words that might explain your assumption clearly. Trying to avoid calling him 'sweet' or some other saccharine adjective that bears little weight aside from filler. You give up after a moment, settling for honesty. "I don't know. I was just trying to figure you out."

"Figure me out, hey?" A slow smile spreads across his lips and you feel your stomach drop. Feeling like you had betrayed something within yourself with the light confession. Given something up to him. "Well, if it's any consolation," he continues after an agonizing beat, "you were right. I am a sweets kind of guy. I'm just supposed to be focusing on protein intake for lacrosse." He shrugs again, unrolling his utensils from their napkin prison, and you feel the knot of tension in your gut loosen slightly.

You raise an eyebrow. "Lacrosse?" you confirm—a puzzle piece slotting into place in your mind. The eyes that follow him wherever he goes, Jihyo's incredulousness at the mention of his name. "I should have guessed."

"Why's that?"

"You're very popular. Either your dad is some wealthy magnate and you've got a trust fund bigger than my future, or its some sports thing."

He shrugs again, taking a sip from his coffee. "Why not both?"

You hesitate, not wanting to accept the reality that exists where that would be a fact. It's too much. Too cliche. The poor scholarship girl from a humble background seduced by the trust fund golden boy with a bright future and no need to even consider academic performance. You wouldn't even pick up a book with that plot. Not that this was a date. "I guess it could be both," you say, conceding the point with a waning hope that he's just teasing you again.

"It's a scholarship," he supplies, and you feel the relief wash over you. "I played in high school—a good high school, but not 'trust fund' good. Scouted early for the collegiate circuit."

You nod, maintaining a carefully composed expression, before asking, "and what are your academic goals? I assume there is some requirement there in terms of maintaining the scholarship?"

He nods, slowly, considering the question more thoughtfully than you expected from him before answering. "There are, but I'm not entirely sure what my ultimate goal is. I was never one of those kids that grew up with a clear idea of what they wanted to be when they grew up. Disappointed?" he asks with a laugh at the frown beginning to pull down at the corners of your mouth.

"I just can't imagine that," you say, shaking your head. A full-ride sports scholarship with a lack of ambition and direction felt like a wasted opportunity to you. You had to work to hands nearly to the bone to qualify for your academic scholarships and even they barely covered everything.

"You were one of those kids then, hey? You mentioned you were pretty serious about school at the party. Law, right?"

Surprise at his remembering the details from a few nights ago shows on your face for a second before you can reign it back in to neutrality. "That's the goal, yes. Has been since I can remember."

"That long, hey? I have to say, I'm a little envious of that clarity. It's just never come naturally to me."

"And what does come naturally to you?"

"Do you cross-examine all of your dates like this?" he laughs. You balk, worrying you might be committing some grave social faux-pas. But this fear was quickly subsumed by the more present notion that he might think this was more than just breakfast with a classmate. A courtesy meeting after passing out in head bed and borrowing clean clothes to get home. Friendly. Normal.

"No. And who said this was a date?" you reply. He just shakes his head—another small, mysterious smile turning up at the corners of his lips. "But you didn't answer my question, anyway. If you don't have much clarity on what you want to do, if that's not something that comes naturally to you, what gives you a sense of direction? You're a freshman so you have time to pick a major, but how did you even choose which classes you wanted for this year?"

"Whim of the moment, I guess," he replies before laughing at your pained expression. "Maybe I don't know what I want to do in the long run, but I do have interests. I just leaned into those. I'm sure not all of your classes are so directly tied to your path to law school, right? You didn't sign up for anything just because it sounded interesting?"

You shake your head, resolute. "No. It just so happens my interests tend to align pretty perfectly with my degree path."

"Is that so?" he asks, bemused.

"Is it that hard to believe?" you retort, indignation coursing through your body.

He pauses a moment, staring at you from across the table in evaluation. You hadn't noticed how clear his eyes were. Wide, and searching. You squirm under the heat of them as he considers you, thoughts concealed behind the placid countenance. The moment stretches on as he seems to be searching you for some hint or answer that might betray a crack in your foundation. You start to feel like a frog in a lab—splayed open under the scalpel. The bright fluorescent lights buzzing overhead do nothing to assuage this illusion. Finally he drops his gaze, shrugging once again before relenting. "No, not that hard to believe, I guess."

The waitress returns with your breakfasts and the line of conversation drops as Jaehyun cuts into the eggs gleaming on his plate. You feel a strange pang of disappointment that he let the topic drop so easily. Maybe he was incurious after all. Maybe that depth in his eyes was just a smokescreen. You ignore the other side of the disappointment that sits burning within you—that you had hoped he would pry further. That you probably would have cracked open a vein of vulnerability if he had. But he didn't, so you don't. Easier to keep these sacred things to yourself that willingly place them in the hands of some unserious jock type.

Breakfast drags on. Conversation shifts to small talk—more controlled and light-hearted. How are your professors, how were midterms, what are your plans for winter break, etc, etc. Each time there was a lull in the conversation, an insistent urge to return to your previous line of questioning thundered inside of you but you quashed it. The moment had passed, the sun was stretching higher in the sky outside, bouncing off the shiny laminate table and obscuring your vision. You squint to try and bring his features back into focus, but he the light was too blinding. Noon rolls around and you said your goodbyes and hand him a bag with his clothes—washed and dried in the dormitory laundry room after trying for a half a day to get a free machine.

Jaehyun was heading in the opposite direction across campus so you made the usual, polite comments expected at the end of this sort of meet-up 'I'll see you in class,' 'don't study too hard,' 'we should do this again,' etc, etc, before you turn and walk away. Even up until the last minute your mind is teaming with unspoken questions begging to be voiced, but it doesn't matter anymore. You doubt you would ever talk to him again, anyway.

. . .

Summer break, Freshman

You elect to stay in the dorms during summer break. In exchange for assisting in a number of research projects at the university, they offer what amounts to basically free housing. You stroll through campus, basking in the summer sun in between running to and from your part time job, the research labs, and working through your own self-curated summer curriculum.

The dorms are quieter this time of year. Most of the student body gone either back home, on study abroad trips, or vacations of their own. Jihyo herself had taken the first flight back to her hometown once classes wrapped up—with a promise that she would be back to dorm with you again in the fall—and apart from a few texts a week, you haven't heard much from her or the rest of your friends.

With one glaring exception.

Stating the need to stick around for summer training, Jaehyun had become one a recurring friendly face for you on campus. So it was only natural that you would get close.

He would come to the cafe you worked at during the day—before or after practise—chatting with you if it was quiet, or reading a book from your personalized reading list to fill his day a bit. The latter worked out well for you as you were able to bounce ideas back and forth about the text, forming an asynchronous book club in the process. He was more insightful that you would have given him credit for, and it forced you to re-examine some internal biases that had gone long unchallenged in your solitary pursuit of knowledge.

On the odd day that you were free, you would take him up on the invitation to sit and monitor his practises. In the beginning you took advantage of the time to simply read through your list of books in the fresh air, but over time you grew accustomed to the flow of the sport and more often that not you would set your novel aside and keep your eyes glued to him as he moved across the field.

Lacrosse had never held much interest for you previously. On the long list of sports you were actively uninterested in, it ranked near the bottom alongside cricket and water polo which you were as equally clueless on. So it was a surprise to you when you began to actually enjoy yourself. It was almost like a dance. You kept your gaze fixed on his back, sticky with the sweat of exertion and the late summer heat, and watched as he ran plays with the incoming freshmen. It got to the point where you could even evaluate his performance as time went on, tracking his growth and change day by day. He would listen and nod thoughtfully, taking your notes on board afterwards when you went out for lunch at some restaurant he had been wanting to try.

You never joined the team outings. Despite the standing invitation to do so. A sense of feeling too much like a fish out of water still remained within you, holding you back from completely throwing yourself into the frey—but you became friendly with the rest of the team. Learning names and positions—what they were going to school for, why they liked (or as was often the case, hated) Lacrosse, what they hoped for from their futures. It became a pet project of your own—data collection from a side of the student body you never would have anticipated finding yourself mingling with.

Sometimes Jaehyun would skip the team hangs himself—feigning tiredness or some other excuse—and walk you back to your dorm while you discussed form or technique or whichever book he had been reading lately from your expansive list. More often than not he'd come up with you while you talked, sprawling out on your bed while you busied yourself around the dorm putting things away and ordering some delivery for dinner.

It felt natural—the friendship. Comfortable. You felt oddly at ease in his presence, and he seemed to feel the same. More talkative than he was when he was with the team or during the few times you had hung out with others during the school year. He seemed to reserve his innermost thoughts for when you were alone together. Some predilection towards 1-on-1 conversation as opposed to juggling conversation within a group where he was content to just sit back and watch you argue with whomever had set you off on the tangent that night. You would be lying if you said you weren't at least a little flattered by it.

Romantic attention had always been a foreign concept to you. Either you were relegated to the friend role, or in your all-consuming pursuit of your future you failed to notice interest in it's entirety, leaving any potential relationships behind in a wake of obliviousness. Dating, high school relationships, boyfriends, girlfriends…you dabbled a bit. A few dates, losing your virginity in the most unspectacular hook up of all time on graduation day, feigning interest in a boy long enough to kiss him behind the library before avoiding and pushing him away while everyone was nagging you to define your situation. You grew to resent those labels and boxes.

But with Jae it all felt so natural. Perhaps because you were entirely free of those hormonal expectations. You weren't seeking out a relationship. Neither was he. You developed a friendship, a solid, intellectual foundation, a mutual respect. No expectations, no demands. Each a whole person unto yourself. Natural.

And the natural extension of that was sex.

You can't recall how it started, entirely. Some sticky, hot day you had spent out lakeside when both of your schedules had managed to align. Sun-kissed skin radiating warmth, desire to create more tenfold. You're sure the Bacardi Breezes you hauled out into the sand hadn't helped.

You fell back into your bed at the dorm, tangled up in each other. Skin still tacky with lake water and sunscreen.

And there was no awkward conversation afterwards, either. It was just accepted as a new dimension to your friendship. An added benefit, as they say. Mutual pleasure. You woke up in the morning with the heat of him still pressed against your side. You ate together, continued your discussion on Virginia Woolf's To The Lighthouse, and then parted for the day without so much as a 'so, what are we?'.

It only made sense to continue as such.

. . .

New Years Eve, Associate 

You can’t believe you’re waiting alone in your apartment for a man. 

All thoughts of work, deadlines, clients, attorneys, referrals—abandoned to the dusty back cabinets of your mind as you pace back and forth in your kitchen, stockinged feet padding against the linoleum floor with impatient steps. You huff, uncross your arms, and tap on the screen of your phone. 

10:35pm 

No messages.

Radio silence. 

You sigh, rolling your eyes, and sink into the barstool at the kitchen island. 

It was New Years Eve. Your first New Years Eve as a couple. After 8 months of dating. Did that mean nothing at all to him? 

You check your phone again. 10:36pm. Still nothing. 

Resigned to the loneliness of your empty studio apartment, you step out of the kitchen and move to the loveseat. Flicking on the TV, you fight off the black cloud of frustration and flip through channel after channel, hunting for something to take your mind off the sourness of the evening. A familiar face appears suddenly. A visage sent directly from your past to shoot an arrow straight into the pit of your stomach. Your hand freezes over the button it had been jamming frantically mere seconds ago—poised to press it again at a moments notice. Ready to banish the face back to the recesses of your history. 

Jaehyun. 

Somehow you had flicked through enough channels to reach ESPN. You figured with it being New Years Eve they might have something better to do than to reply the same sports highlights they've been showing since the end of the season, but apparently you had a lot more in common with lonely sports fans than you would have thought. 

You keep your eyes glued to the screen as his face takes over the broadcast. He’s sitting behind the sportscast desk, a regular guest host during the college season, giving his opinion on some injured player's likelihood of returning to the field. He sounds the same as you remember him—soft-spoken but assured. Now that his words are supported with degrees and years of his own field time, he's considered an expert. He's in his element. That quiet confidence that you and every other person with eyeballs were attracted to right from freshman year exudes through the TV and consumes you as you sit frozen on the arm of your couch. He smiles, easily, and you can see the other anchors at the desk practically melting into their seats at the sight.

You wonder where he might be tonight. It had been years since you had last spoken to him. Since you had last felt those eyes lingering on you as you lay in his arms. The sting of regret, of opportunity missed out on, blurs your vision as you try to maintain focus on his face on the screen. You know the interview won't last much longer, but you want to keep seeing him. You want to sink into the warmth of his eyes, his voice—lean forward and drink in every last drop of him. 

You didn’t know just how strongly this desire still burned inside of you.

Jeong Jaehyun. 

Was he wearing a ring? Maybe. You can’t see his hands clearly enough to tell. You’re sure he has someone. You did, you remember vaguely. Was he with her tonight? Are they sitting with each other in some cocktail bar in Manhattan, drinking to the end of another successful year? Drinking to love and to life and to the start of something even better than what they had before? 

The bitterness of jealousy swells up unbidden and you bit it back—swallow it back down to the base of your throat but you still feel it there pressing against the skin. A feeling you had no right to carry with you after all these years. 

Your phone lies forgotten on the couch as you continue watching his mouth move, the words lost to the din of the background by now, all you have are eyes. Hungry eyes. Drinking in the sight of a love long lost to time. 

The scene cuts away finally—it feels like ages though you’re sure it's only been a minute or two. You pick up the remote and scan rapidly through the rest of the sports channels but to no avail. He's gone. Once more just a memory lingering at the fringes of your past. 

The door opens behind you and you hear your boyfriend enter, hear the guilt in his voice as he calls out to you, but the guilt falls on deaf ears. The sound of Jaehyun’s voice is still reverberating through you, monopolizing your attention. Whispers of all the times he called your name, said hello, said goodbye. 

Your boyfriend calls your name again, tapping you on the shoulder to get your attention. You turn towards him and it takes a minute for you to focus on his features. Another face lingers over him like a mask of smoke and mirrors. “I’m sorry I’m late, I got caught up at work with this deposition, you know how it is.”

You nod, understanding. You do know how it is. You wish you didn’t. You wish you had never known. 

How it is was lonely. 

“We can probably still make it for the countdown if you want to order an uber?” 

You watch his expression, notice the slack of his tie, the spot of wine on the front of his white button down that had been hurriedly cleaned with water—probably in some bathroom or another near the office after he remembered that you were sitting alone waiting for him in the dark of your apartment. You didn’t blame him. You realise now that both of you had just been biding time. 

You smile, shaking your head. “It’s okay, we can just watch the countdown here. Spend the night in.” 

He sighs, relief washing over him, “sounds good to me.” He turns towards the kitchen, heading for the fridge to grab one of the beers he left the last time you had hung out. Weeks ago, it feels like. Time subsumed by the franticness of the holidays and all the year end deadlines at work. You turn back towards the TV, hunting now for a channel to watch the ball drop. The hiss of the can opening sounds out behind you. “Are you hungry, babe? Want to order a pizza?” 

“Whatever you want, I don’t mind.” 

And you don’t. He’s not a bad guy. He fit into your life. The ideal partner that you had envisioned at 12 years old sitting at your white IKEA desk, etching your future down in pink glitter gel ink. Handsome, hardworking, easy. Someone who wouldn’t get in the way. An accessory to the life you always wanted rather than a distraction from it.

But maybe you had been wrong all along. He was what you wanted, but never what you needed. 

. . .

September, Senior

“How long have you guys been dating now?” 

“Three yea–”

“Oh, we’re not dati–” 

Your voices overlap in the din of the party. Two different answers drowning each other out and eliciting a confused glance from the inquiring classmate. Out of the corner of your eye you see Jaehyun staring at you, deep brown eyes fixated on your face as you raise your cup for another drink. The liquid bitter on your palette. The heat of his gaze burns into your skin and you can feel a creeping sense of guilt moving through you as the seconds tick by like years. 

Your classmate, you barely remember his name, clears his throat to dispel the awkward atmosphere, “right, sorry I just thought you guys—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, watching as Jaehyun weaves through the crowd towards the kitchen. A pang of guilt twists its way into your stomach and you debate following after him. All of your senses are screaming ‘no’, let him go—give him space—but your stubbornness has always overruled your intuition and you follow him into the kitchen with barely a nod towards the bewildered classmate. 

“Jae,” you call out his name in the crowded kitchen and someone directs you through the sliding doors out onto the patio outside. The noise of the party spills out into the night as you step out, only to be muffled again as you close the doors behind you. 

The yard is empty, save for yourself and Jaehyun. You thank the fact that everyone was else too involved in their own night to pay any attention to the sudden turn that yours had taken. For now, at least. Maybe enough time to smooth it over and head back in, laugh it off with the rest of your friends. Some small misunderstanding. Maybe. The pang in your stomach told you it might not be so easy this time.

He stands, facing out into the darkness, his back stiff and straight as he ignores your presence behind him. 

You’ve fought before. Little arguments, small tiffs. Nothing major. But he always gave in. Always yielded to your perspective, your point of view. You thought it was because you were right. Always the more logical one—hard to argue with facts. But maybe it’s because he just never wanted to be wrong.

“Are we going to talk about this?” you ask, standing a few feet behind him. Feigning nonchalance even as your heart is beating into your throat.

“Talk about what?” he asks after a moment, keeping his gaze directed forward. His voice sounds thick and you realise with a pang that he might be close to tears. 

“Jae,” you say, softer now. Entreating. 

“What is there to talk about?” he asks again, voice sounding further and further away despite neither of you moving from your respective spots.

“Well, clearly something or we wouldn’t be standing out here in the cold," you say, trying for a wry smile.

He laughs, a short derisive snort born less out of humour and more out of disbelief. You stand, each rooted to your own spot, unwilling to give way to each other, for a few silent moments before he finally casts a glance back at you. “Then go ahead,” he says, “talk.” 

You roll your eyes. This was not where you had wanted your night to go. Annoyance grows in your mind, alongside the pain and anxiety of knowing that he was upset with you. If only you had never talked to that guy. If only he had never asked that question. Things would be fine. You’d be back inside; warm, drinking, laughing. Enjoying a rare night out together away from the pressures of exams and essay deadlines.

You try to push past the thoughts and feelings, but you don’t know what to say and it compounds the annoyance flaring inside of you. You scramble for some hook, some argument that might plead your case favourably here but you're at a loss.

“Nothing to say?” he scoffs, finally turning to face you fully. You see the tension in his shoulders and your fingers itch to smooth it out. To brush it off him and see his eyes light up with a smile again instead of this downcast expression clouding his face. You cross your arms over your chest instead, trying to keep in some warmth and still the steady pounding of your heart. “I thought so.”

“What am I even supposed to say, Jae? This is stupid,” you huff, aware that you sound like a brat but unable to step outside of your own irritation for even a moment long enough to step into his shoes. He was fucking up everything for you right now. 

“Stupid?” he scoffs again, shaking his head. His cheeks mottled red. Either from drink, anger, cold or all three. “Isn’t that always how it is though, my thoughts, my feelings. Stupid. Second to yours. Not worth the time or energy to talk about."

“What are you even talking about? That’s not what I meant,” you say, frowning against the accusation. Obviously you cared about his feelings and thoughts, why else would you spend so much time with him when you could put it to use studying or working more shifts at the cafe. Wasn't that clear by now?

“Then what is it?” he asks. He crosses his own arms for a moment before giving up and running a tensed hand through his hair. Raking through the already dishevelled locks. “Because I am running out of lies to tell myself at this point.”

“Lies? What lies?” Now it's your turn to be confused. Your turn to feel the swell of rage and anger boil inside of you. A pit of vipers aching to be fed. 

“'She cares about you, she’s just busy. She thinks about you, you know she does, it’s been three years and she hasn’t gotten rid of you yet, that must mean something.' Those good enough?” he spits, “or do you want to hear more?"

The vipers hiss, squirming in your chest in a tangle of slowly burning rage as he continues his monologue and you watch him pace back and forth on the deck, his accusations dissolving into the air in puffs of white steam as he speaks. 

“'She’s just doesn't show it the same way you do, Jaehyun, but you know she loves you.'” You see his eyes shimmer in the porch light. The shine of barely restrained tears held in their depths but you can’t bring yourself to add any more emotions—let alone pity or guilt—to the inferno already burning inside of you. 

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have made all these assumptions about my feelings if you were just going to end up hurting your own,” you spit back.

He nods, slow, jaw set in a straight line. A knife edge shining white in the darkness, slicing the air. “Maybe you’re right.”

You deflate, vipers retreating back to their cave and you lose all energy to try and bridge this gap tonight. “Why are we even fighting about this, I said I was not ready for a relationship. I’m not interested in that. I never was. We were just having fun.”

“Well excuse me for labouring under the delusion that these last three years might have meant something more to you than just something to toss aside as soon as it becomes inconvenient for you. My mistake.” 

“Yeah,” you say, feeling the keen sting of tears pricking at the back of your own eyes. You blame it on the cold even as you feel your heart crack down the centre. “Your mistake.” 

“So that’s it then?” he asks. “You’re not going to apologize? Not going to try to salvage anything of the time we’ve spent together? Just going to let it end here?” 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be apologizing for, so I don’t get what you’re expecting me to do here, Jaehyun.” you sigh. Your body feels heavy. Now that the flush of anger and annoyance has left you you're left with the weight of regret sinking deep into your bones. You can taste it on the back of your tongue as you swallow back a flood of…what? Apologies? Tears? Maybe if you weren't having this conversation in the middle of a party, half-drunk, you would have the clarity of mind to know what to say to fix this. But right now you're just tired.

“I don’t know,” he says, sighing your name along with it. Sounding as tired as you feel. “But I thought you might still care enough to try, at least. A little bit.” 

You’re at a loss for words. Every emotion you’ve ever tired to rationalize away swims up in the forefront of your mind, choking out any words that you might have otherwise been able to articulate. What was there left to even say? Sorry? Little good that would do at this point, even you could recognize that. Part of you wants to say it anyway, but the rest of you just wants to leave. Walk away and call it a wash. Pretend none of this ever happened. Pretend you never knew him.

He sighs, resignation painted in tired lines over his face. “I guess that is it then.” He steps forward and you take an unconscious step back away from him. His eyes soften slightly, hand twitching at his side. He turns towards you, and you think for a moment he might lean forward. Brush a strand of hair away, remedy it all with a soft press of his lips against yours. Bury his wounds and forgive you of your sins like he has so many times in the past. His breath ghosts over your face for a second before its gone and the shock of the cold air hits you again, wakes you back up to reality. 

“I’m sorry,” he says instead, stepping past you towards the sliding glass door. “For wasting so much of your time.” 

The sound of the party, still going on despite everything, spills out around you for a moment as he steps inside but then its gone. You’re alone.  

. . .

New Years Eve, Junior

[Jihyo] you sure you don't wanna come out? [you] ill get everyone sick [Jihyo] boo, you whore [Jihyo] did you take your cold meds [you] yes mom. headache is better at least [Jihyo] good [you] happy new year. sorry i had to miss it [Jihyo] its fine but you owe me [you] for being sick??? [Jihyo] you did it on purpose [Jihyo] happy new year ill call you tmrw [Jihyo] love you [you] love you too. dont get too drunk

You toss your phone aside. 10:30pm on New Years Eve and here you were in bed surrounded by a cloud of used tissue and multiple cups of chamomile tea. Before seeing the evidence for herself Jihyo was convinced you were faking it to get out of one of her parties. You weren't. It only took one 5-minute FaceTime conversation for her to realise that and send you soup via delivery in apology. You appreciated the soup. But pride was keeping you from confessing something even worse to her when she would check in.

You had actually been looking forward to the party.

It was a shock to you more than anything. Parties, especially New Years Eve parties, ranked fairly high on the scale of things you tried to avoid when possible, but for some reason a small part of you was looking forward to celebrating with her and Jaehyun and the rest of your friends. Getting sick felt like divine punishment in a way for wanting to enjoy yourself for once. The universe keeping you stuck alone and reminding you why you were at university in the first place and that was clearly not to socialize.

A knock on the door pulls your attention away from the countdown livestream you had pulled up on your laptop and you wonder if maybe she had sent you more soup in an effort to cook the illness out of your system. Anyone else who it could have possibly been should be out celebrating by this time.

You slip out of bed with some effort, shuffling in your house slippers across the linoleum to the door and cracking it open an inch to peer out.

"Happy new year," Jaehyun says when your eyes meet his in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, face still half obscured by the door.

"Celebrating the new year," he says with a shrug. "Didn't want you to be alone for it. Sorry I was going to be here sooner but it was so hard to get an uber I ended up just walking."

You stare at him through the sliver of space between you—fevered mind trying to fit the pieces together—before slowly opening the door and stepping back to let him into the room. "It's cold," you say, unsure of how else to word the flurry of thoughts circling your mind at the moment.

"It's not too bad," he shrugs again, unwinding his scarf and slipping off his winter jacket. A light dusting of snow covers the dark black fabric, melts at the tips of his eyelashes. "I brought you this. Might need to reheat it, though." He hands you a plastic bag of takeout containers. Pho from a nearby restaurant you've been to together a few times.

"Thanks." You accept the bag, setting it on the kitchenette counter before turning back to face him. "I thought you were going to Jihyo's party?"

"I was," he says, nodding, "but there wasn't much of a point if you weren't going to be there."

"But I'm sick," you explain weakly, still floundering to articulate your thoughts.

"Clearly," he laughs, waving to the pile of cold meds and empty soup containers next to the takeout. "Hence the soup. You can eat it later, if you're not hungry now, it reheats well."

Jaehyun walks over to your bed, clearing away the pile of old tissue while you stand frozen by the door and watch. He straightens up the comforter, smoothing out the wrinkles in the bedding, before gesturing for you to crawl back under the covers. You oblige, grateful you didn't have to decide what to do next in the midst of your confusion. Brain still whirring with the surprise of him in the middle of your dorm room.

You settle back into bed and Jaehyun disappears down the hallway for a minute. Bright lights and fireworks flash on the screen of your laptop as you sit staring blankly at it, waiting for him to return. He does after a few minutes—freshly washed and changed into a set of clean pyjamas. The set you got him for Christmas from a department store in your hometown. Blue linen pinstripes. He nudges you aside and crawls under the covers with you, adjusting the laptop so it's half on your leg and half on his.

Silence settles in, punctuated by your sniffling, as you sit side by side watching the countdown. You former regret over not being able to attend Jihyo's party had vanished completely, replaced by the warmth of Jaehyun's body next to you. The happiness blooming in your chest. The clock ticks closer to midnight and Jaehyun shifts so you're nestled into the crook of his arm, his fingers dragging lazy circles over your thigh under the blanket.

"Do you have a resolution for the year?" he asks. "Any goals?"

You think for a moment, considering. Resolutions weren't really ever your thing. It seemed more practical to act on your goals the moment they formed rather than wait for an arbitrary date on the calendar to announce them but maybe there was something. Something unserious that you had been wanting to do for a while but that didn't really fit into your "plan" for the year.

"Yeah," you say, "I want to see an opera."

"An opera?" he laughs, hand stopping it's previous motions.

"What's so funny about that?" you ask, frowning. Maybe it was silly.

"I just expected you to say something more related to school, but no. An opera. That's cool. You've never seen one before?" he asks and you shake your head. "I think I saw a poster for Tosca in the arts building. I'll get tickets."

"What about you?" you ask, reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his in a silent gesture of thanks. "What's your resolution for the year?"

"Mmm," he hums, considering it. "I don't really have one."

"What?" You bark an incredulous laugh, followed by a small coughing fit. "Why did you ask me then if you don't even have one of your own?"

"I was just curious," you feel him shrug. "I was seriously trying to think of one, but to be honest I'm pretty content these days."

. . .

November, Senior

“Please I know you don’t want to see her right now but she’s in bad shape, just do this one favour for me. Please?” Jihyo’s whisper rattles against the throbbing walls of your skull. You feel a wave of nausea swell and think you might throw up again, hands grasping onto the cold porcelain of the toilet, before it abates and you sink back against the tiled floor. 

“C’mon,” Jihyo entreats, reaching a hand down towards you. If you didn’t know better you would have thought there were two of her. The brown shape of her hair halos your vision and you thrust a hand up to try and connect it with hers. Somehow you manage to find it and feel yourself being hoisted off the floor. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, words tripping over each other in a drunken slur as they spill out of your mouth. Jihyo sighs as she helps you up and you try your best to straighten your legs but they feel like wet noodles attached to your hips with string. 

“You are going home,” she says.

You don’t have the heart to protest. The thought of your soft bed supporting your body instead of the cold floor of someone else's bathroom sounds like a dream at this moment and you know it's exactly what you need. But you don't want to ruin the rest of Jihyo’s night, either. Especially due to your own stupidity.

“I can stay,” you mumble and she laughs. 

“No, you need to go home,” she affirms, supporting you as you walk together through the crowds to the front door. Jihyo pauses at the entrance to help you put on your jacket and shoes. You feel more pathetic than you ever have in your life, watching your friend's ponytail sway as she bends to slip your foot into your shoes. Why did people drink this much ever? Another wave of nausea and vertigo overtakes you and you grab hold of her shoulder to steady yourself until it passes.

“But,” you mutter when it finally does, starting another protest but giving up when you can't summon up a reasonable statement as to why she should leave you to your own devices and enjoy herself.

“Don’t worry about me," she says, sensing the direction of your thoughts anyway. She stands up and adjusts the lapels of your coat with a reassuring smile. "I’m staying for a while longer, I’m just going to help you into the car.,” 

“You’re leaving me?” you pout, a new protest mounting.

“Yes, but you’ll be in good hands, don’t worry,” she assures you before opening the door and holding your hand to guide you down the front steps.

Your frown deepens. Whose hands could possibly be as good and helpful as hers in your time of need? 

Then you hear his voice. You snap to attention, fog of drunkenness clearing slightly as the top of Jaehyun's head emerges in your field of vision. “Jesus,” he says, wrapping an arm under yours to help support you. “What did she drink? An entire keg?” 

“Soju. Helpfully provided by Johnny," she rolls her eyes. "You know she doesn’t usually drink, it went straight to her head. Plus, she hasn’t been eating well lately so she was on an empty stomach." Jihyo explains the situation to Jaehyun but her voice fades in and out of your focus. Droning in the background as you zero in on the feeling of Jaehyun's body against yours.

“Why did you even bring her then?” you hear him ask in the distance. He smells nice. The party was so musty—the scent of bodies, alcohol, sweat, old socks, vomit. Maybe that last one was you. You hadn't noticed how omnipresent it was until you got outside and your airways were washed clean by the crisp night air. But now, as you lean deeper into his side, you inhale the scent of him. Spicy and warm. Familiar. The lingering scent of his body wash clinging to his skin hours after the shower.

“What so it’s my fault? I thought it might be good for her to get out and take her mind off of…things–”

They continue talking through you, all but ignoring you as you stumble with them down the pathway to the car. You wish they would stop bickering with each other, it was drawing your attention away from your reminiscence. You don't have the energy to ask them though so you let yourself be pulled forward. Employing your legs just enough to keep from falling over. Jaehyun's arm falls away from you and you groan as you're guided into the front seat of his old Honda Civic. Jihyo buckles you in and pats you on the head affectionately before turning back to the party.

The car peels away from the curb, tires crunching against the piles of leaves lining the side of the road. Jaehyun drives through the neighbourhood slowly. You lean forward, arms clutched around your waist in an attempt to quell the unrest in your stomach. Silence persists throughout the drive back to the dorm, and continues even as he helps you out of the car and up into bed. You wonder distantly if this is the same thing that happened the first night you met. If he was this caring and attentive, or if you just blindly fumbled around yourself while he kept an eye so you didn't fall over or throw up in the cab.

“Here,” Jae says, handing you a plastic bottle of suspiciously clear liquid. You grimace, turning your nose up at the thought of adding more alcohol into your system. 

“I can’t drink anything else,” you say pushing weakly at his outstretched hand.

“It’s water,” he sighs, moving to sit next to you on the edge of the bed. “You need to hydrate.” 

“Oh,” you say dumbly, accepting the drink. Grateful as soon as it touches your tongue. You hadn't realised how thirsty you were. The plastic crumples in your grip as you drain it in one go. Gulping it down like a toddler with a sippy cup. Your senses clear slightly after and the realisation finally hits you that you’re alone with Jaehyun for the first time in over a month. “Are you still mad at me?” you ask, unable to help yourself. The question that had pressed at the back of your mind for weeks bubbling to the surface. 

He sighs, leaning forward, elbows planted on his knees. You watch him out of the side of your eyes, vision blurred at the edges but still able to focus on the breadth of his shoulders, the broad expanse of his back. The sharp curve of his cheek. 

“You want to talk about this now?” he asks with a sidelong glance towards you. You nod, head heavy on your neck.

“When,” you hiccup, betrayed by your own body, “when else can we? I haven’t seen you in a month.” 

“You know you could have messaged me at any point,” he says and your stomach sinks. Should you have messaged him? You weren't exactly sure what social etiquette demanded in this circumstance.

“I didn’t think you would want to hear from me,” you confess.

“Maybe not,” he says, but the uncertainty of the statement lingers. Silence stretches onward as you breath next to each other—chests rising and falling in tandem. You loosen your grip on the empty bottle and toss it towards the bin in the corner. It lands a foot away from the bed with a light thud.

“So…” you say, finally broken by the silence. Unable to take the weight of the tension anymore. 

“So what?”

“So are you? Mad at me?” Now that you've uttered the question once you lose all sense of shame at prying for the answer. You felt desperate for it—almost as pathetic as you had earlier clinging onto Jihyo as she buttoned up your jacket for you. Now you were clinging to Jaehyun.

He sighs again. A theme of the evening. Everyone seems tired of you and you can’t exactly blame them. “I was,” he says, “but now I think I’m just mad at myself.” 

“Why?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. Before, during the fight itself, you would have given anything to be able to ignore it. Avoid the conflict entirely, pretend it wasn't happening and just go back to the status quo of what you had before. Now you found yourself reaching for answers that you knew were going to hurt.

“For letting you get to me so much,” he laughs, mirthless. There's no joy in it. He glances at you again and you hold his gaze as steady as you can before he drops it back to the floor. “For believing there was something more there."

You frown, unable to place exactly why this was making you feel so sad right now. All the irritation and anger you had felt towards him over the past few weeks had been washing down with a river of tequila and you were stripped bare to the root of it all. The sadness that lurked beneath. And your inability to reckon with that feeling. 

“It took a while but I finally realised that you were telling me the truth the whole time, and the only one lying to me was myself."

“Lying about what?” you ask, unable to help yourself. You could feel the heat of tears as they threatened to well up in your eyes.

“That you ever cared about me at all,” he confesses.

“I do care,” you mumble in protest. Deep frown carving into the sides of your mouth.

He laughs again, more lightly this time but still without much happiness. You miss his old laugh. How he would throw his head back with the joy of it. “Maybe you do," he relents and you feel a sliver of hope rise up unbidden. "But not as much as you care about everything else.”

Was that true? You weren’t so sure anymore. 

. . .

June, Convocation

Graduation appears on the horizon of your calendar. A long awaited date approaching after weeks, months, years of reaching towards it. You graduate with distinction, beaming down at your parents in the sea of faces as you accept the diploma with a handshake. A swelling of pride afloat in your chest carries you through the day on wings as you mingle with the other graduates and take photos in the reception area next to convocation hall.

Your first real, tangible step achievement on this path you had so carefully designed for yourself. You had already received early acceptance to well-regarded law program at another school, but you were trying your best not to focus too much on the future. To take a small step back for once and just bask in this moment of achievement without losing yourself in what needed to be done next.

It was hard anyway to think about much else all day as you were ferried from place to place, meeting up with relatives and family friends. Receiving and giving well-wishes in equal measure to both familiar and unfamiliar faces donned in the same royal blue cap and gown as you.

And yet still you find your eyes lingering on the faces in the crowd. Suspense at the thought of seeing that familiar dimpled smile among your classmates. But you didn't even know if he was graduating now. You couldn't remember if he was even on track for it or if he would be in next years graduating class. You slip your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your messages, pausing at his contact [Jae from the party]. Last message early September. You open the thread, thumb poised to send out a line of communication but think better of it. Tucking the phone back away as Jihyo approaches you with a wide smile.

. . .

Halloween, Law School

"Flat white. Soy milk with an extra shot, and a large iced Americano with 2 pumps of hazelnut," you recite the usual order to the new face behind the counter before tapping your phone and stepping aside, letting the next person in line step up to the young, anxious barista without looking up from the brief clutched in your hands.

The mock trial was set to start in 3 hours and you had been taking notes on the disposition for days already, your head filled with so much 16th century legal jargon it was fit to burst. Seeing that Halloween lined up with the day for the trial, your professor had thought it would be a good idea to conduct a witch trial. A lot of your fellow students were enjoying the change of pace, but you found the whole thing downright ridiculous. If not a severe insult to your intelligence. But part of you was also not entirely sure that wasn't the point. How well could you perform in a trial where even the basis of the crime itself was farcical.

Would you still give it the same attention as every other mock trial you had done so far? Take it as gravely as the material suggested you should, or would you phone it in and lean into the humour of it as a few of your classmates were wont to do? Well, point or not, you would be damned if you would let one silly proceeding disuade you from impressing upon your instructors just how serious you were about this career.

The trial was set in the current century, with all the current laws, but you had taken it upon yourself to build a foundation of the history of the witch trials themselves and the laws they propped up on. The defense might blow it off, but the prosecution would not rest as long as you had anything to say about it.

You skim through the notes you already had practically memorized, running through your opening statement over and over again in your mind until the sound of your own named being spoken pulls you back into the present.

You glance up, expecting it to be your drinks, but instead find yourself face to face with a ghost from your past.

He looks the same. Same dimples, same square jaw, same lips—but older, more defined in his features. Small lines crease the corners of his eyes as he smiles at you and you just stare back dumbfounded.

"Aren't you allergic to hazelnut?" he asks, nodding towards the Americano that was being assembled behind the bar.

"What?" you manage to stammer out, blinking your cells back into your body after they had rearranged themselves in the space of a moment. "Oh, no. I mean, yes, I am, but the drink isn't for me it's for a classmate."

"I see," he says, nodding.

"We have a mock trial today," you explain, an overwhelming urge to defend yourself—though you're not even sure against what.

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head alongside the expression, "witch trials back in session?"

You laugh, unable to suppress it and maintain detachment. The bewilderment is fading but another feeling surges up to take it's place. One less familiar to you. Delight. "Something like that."

You hear your name called again—the barista this time, sliding your drinks across the granite counter towards you. You move to grab them but hesitate. A slight worry that Jaehyun might dissipate into thin air the second you turn your back on him. She calls his name out a second later and you finally break out of the spell holding you in place.

"I didn't know you lived here," you say, popping the lid back onto your reusable mug.

"I don't," he replies with a shake of his head, a strand of honey brown hair falling in front of his eye as he does so. "We have a game tonight."

"You still play?" you ask, tucking your brief under your arm as you head out of the coffee shop in tandem. He pauses, pushing the door open and ushering you out under the bridge of his arm. You catch a faint whiff of his cologne—an unfamiliar citrus based scent—and wonder when he changed it.

He shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "No, assistant coach."

"Oh," you say dumbly—unsure of what else to say.

You know what you want to say. A myriad of questions and statements swirling in your thoughts.

How long are you in town for?

It's nice to see you.

I missed you.

For a moment you think you hear him inviting you to the game tonight—but you write it off as wishful thinking and continue walking in silence. Are you even heading in the right direction, or just following his path to wherever he needs to be going? The mock trial suddenly seems lightyears away.

"Are you enjoying it?"

"What?"

He chuckles, soft and low, and it sends as sharp pang deep into your gut. How many times had you fallen asleep to that laugh? "Law school," he clarifies, and you mouth another silent 'oh'.

"Yes," you say, measuring your words as you consider the question. "It's difficult, but I knew that going into it. It's what I've been working for my whole life. I guess it just feels…right? But I also wonder if maybe that's just because I've never dared to imagine anything other than this outcome."

He laughs, dimples indenting his cheeks, and you feel a flush of heat creeping up your neck. "Then I guess it's a good thing you followed through on it."

"How about you?" you ask. "Are you enjoying coaching?"

He shrugs and you almost laugh at the action. The same unaffected nonchalance you got so attached to without realising it so many years ago. "It's good. Tough to balance with the masters program, but it's a good outlet," he says, then turns to you with a smile adding, "I should have gotten into a different sport though, there's no money in lacrosse."

"The rich kid sport can't afford to pay it's coaches?" you ask.

"Ironic, isn't it?" he replies with another wry smile.

"Well, if you ever need a lawyer…" you joke, letting the offer dangle in the air. Half-serious.

He laughs, nodding, "I'll call you." The statement, even if only in response to your joke, makes your heart stutter in your chest. He turns down a side street and you keep pace with him. This was definitely the wrong direction now, but you were reluctant to turn around and give up this moment. Let it fade into the past along with every other memory of him. Maybe in another life this was where you could rekindle something. Exchange numbers, go out for drinks, see if there is anything left between you worth repairing or reinventing.

Another life.

"Do you ever wish it was different?" you ask, letting your guard down for a moment. Allowing a small piece of your inner world to slip out into the street between you.

He glances at you, curious but composed. "Do I ever wish what was different?"

You shrug, struggling for the words to clarify the thought that had prompted the question in the first place. "Just…any of it. Law school, coaching, university…any of it. I just…I just sometimes wonder if maybe by being so focused on the result that something was missed in the process."

His pace slows a half-step as he considers it, but he doesn't answer. Instead he asks, "do you regret it?"

You look at him through the corner of your eye, expecting to feel the heat of his gaze on you but his eyes are trained on the street ahead. "No," you reply after a beat. "Not about this."

He nods, stopping as you approach the crosswalk at the end of the street. "Good," he says with a smile, "me either."

. . .

November 4th, Freshman

“How was your date?” Jihyo asks the second you open the door. You roll your eyes, dismissing the insinuation and toss your bag on top of your bed. 

“It was not a date and it was fine,” you say, leaning over to unlace your boots before kicking them towards the shoe rack next to the door. Her grin widens, the threat of further teasing playing at the edge of her lips, but you ward it off with a shrug and add, “he’s nice, but I doubt we’ll see each other much after this.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow at the conviction behind your pronouncement.

“My focus is on law school,” you reply, emptying the contents of your bag onto your blanket. You fish out the reciept from the Denny's breakfast—having staunchly refused to let him pick up the tab—and file it into the expenses folder in your nightstand drawer.

“What, and there’s no room for friends in any of that?” she asks, attempting to poke holes in your argument.

“Not if they’re going to be a distraction," you affirm, pulling up your laptop and sitting cross-legged on top of your bed. Facing her but pointedly ignoring her insistent gaze.

“So you think he would be a distraction?”

You snap your laptop shut with a sigh and look over at her, meeting her playful gaze with a determined stare of your own. “I have a plan, Jihyo," you say, resolved. As if that might somehow steer her away from teasing you further on the subject, though you know better by now that it's only going to fan the flames. You continue anyway. "You know I have a plan. I’m not going to say no to friends and acquaintances if they fit into that, but if they’re moving in a different direction than I am, then it's probably better for both of us if we just don’t even bother.” 

“Oh yes, your big plan, of course, of course. How could I forget.” She holds up her hands, eyes wide with mock horror. You scoff and turn your attention back away from her as she laughs and hops off her bed. You can feel her gaze on you again a second later and you brace yourself for whatever jab she has to tease you with now. "Well, you know what John Lennon said about plans…"

She lets the sentence hang in the air and you open your mouth to reply but your phone lights up before you get the chance. A new notification flashing on the lockscreen. You feel Jihyo’s eyes dart from you to the screen, and you flip your phone over to shield it from her in the hopes that she might leave well enough alone. But the widening of your eyes when you see the contact name was unmistakable. 

[Jae from the party] hey, i hope this isn’t too soon but–

You glance towards her, feigning nonchalance and she just stares back with a raised eyebrow. A telepathic conversation between two resolute, unmoving objects. You stare at each other from across the room, each daring the other to break the silence and say something. Your phone buzzes in the background once again. A second text has hit your inbox. 

“Well, enjoy studying, I’m off to class,” she says, dismissing the topic much to your relief. But you can feel the ‘I told you so’ hidden in the farewell. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” you say by way of goodbye. 

“In macroeconomics?” she gasps, hand over heart, “I would never.”

“Goodbye Jihyo,” you wave her off, eager to be done with her and to sit alone with your textbooks and your phone. It buzzes for a third time as she opens the door. 

“He is pretty cute though, don’t you think?” Jihyo says with a final wink.

She’s gone before you even have the chance to agree.